Romeo Take Me Somewhere We Can Be Alone
by imthenextweasley-freddiesgirl
Summary: After the Final Battle, Hermione and Fred grow closer than ever before. One night, Hermione jokingly lets it slip that she wants to run away with Fred to America during the Revolutionary War, finding it romantic. Little did they know that a shooting star had taken them seriously! Unfortunately, they find that the War is much more dangerous than they had envisioned. . .
1. Chapter 1

**AN: So, as you may notice, I am new to writing fan fictions. This is my very first one. As I have started school up again and need to study for quarter finals, I'll try my hardest to update once a week when ever I can. I'm so excited about this fic because I get to combine my two favorite things: Fremione and the American Revolution! By the way I have been in love with Taylor Swift's song "Love Story" ever since it came out, so I am somewhat basing this story off it. So without further ado, please review, favorite, and add to your story alerts!**

**XOXO Sara**

Cold. If Hermione Granger was asked to describe how she felt right then, that would be her response. She had taken a moment to survey her surroundings and saw nothing but death. Her feet stayed planted into the ground as she watched green beams of destruction flying every which way from seemingly flimsy pieces of wood. Time after time again, she saw too many people she once knew fall to the stone floor in one convulsive motion. Time after time, she heard the sadistic cackling of the one person she feared most in the world. _He is killing innocent people who had lives ahead of them; loves that they will never return to, _Hermione thought, the brief sorrow vanishing while blinding rage took over her body. Death Eater after Death Eater fell victim to the young lioness.

"Hermione!"

"Stup-" Hermione abruptly cut off the curse as she saw who had called her name.

Harry and Ron grinned at her from the former door of the Great Hall.

"Harry! Ron!" she cried, sprinting to meet her blood-caked best friends. She had been worried sick about them, knowing that their death would mean her own, one way or another. During the battle she kept the two out of her mind knowing that any distraction would lead to her nonexistence.

"You did it, Harry!" the female Gryffindor screamed, crushing The-Boy-Who-Lived to her with a surprisingly strong grip.

"'Mione, are you all right there?" asked Ron. "You were still firing off curses even though there was no one left alive in the room to curse."

"I'm fine. I'll just sit down for a while," replied Hermione. "Now that you bring it up I am feeling a little dizzy. . ."

With that, the bushy haired witch collapsed with a loud thump.

* * *

"Yes, Freddie, we _know._ Some Death Eater tried to blow up the wall and you Transfigured him into a teapot. How very third year of you," came George's loud voice from downstairs, sounding irritated.

"Fred, we are very happy that you prevented a potentially horrid situation, but you're beginning to annoy us all," said Molly Weasley, slightly frowning. "Make yourself useful and bring Hermione her dinner."

Muttering about unappreciative family, the twin dragged himself up the stairs to Ginny's bedroom. The sound of the door opening had startled Hermione, who had awakened several minutes before to hear the story of Fred's triumph.

"Sorry, 'Mione," said Fred with a smirk that showed no sign of repentance, but soon his face grew worried. "I brought you dinner. Are you feeling okay? I mean, Mum's put you on bed rest for a week so I'm sure you'll be all right. And-"

"Fred!"

"Yeah, 'Mione?"

"Shut up," Hermione said, grinning.

"Right, sorry," the ginger replied, blushing almost the exact color of his shoulder-length hair. He had been attracted to Hermione ever since the Tri-Wizard Tournament in his sixth year, but it wasn't until just recently that he had begun to fancy the witch. He couldn't help the tightening in his stomach whenever she flashed him a smile or blushed at one of his playfully rude comments (not that he minded).

"Are you okay?" asked the witch. He had been acting very odd around her lately, and she was beginning to worry. His snarky comments aimed at her had diminished and he grew quiet whenever she entered a room he was in.

"Splendid!" Fred replied, although his tone convinced her otherwise. "Just plotting, you know, stuff-" On the word "stuff," his voice cracked. _Shit, _he thought, mentally grimacing. Bloody hell! He was a grown man of twenty and his voice _still_ cracked. _Only when I'm nervous,_ he noted.

Blushing again, he began to back out of the room, muttering something that could possibly be deciphered as "uh I'll be going. . . Places to be, people to meet. . . I'll see you tomor- GAHHH!" The redhead landed roughly on his arse, glaring at that insufferable animal who had tripped him. By that point, Fred Weasley's face and every other visible part of his body glowed with Gryffindor spirit. A now incredibly embarrassed twin scrambled to his feet, sprinting to the door. It was all Hermione could do to stifle her laughter during his charade, but when the door swung open and hit Fred smack in the face, she practically howled. She and a very amused Ginny watched as the redhead barreled through the door.

"What the bloody hell was that about?" asked Ginny.

"I wish I only knew," replied Hermione, wiping the tears from her eyes.

* * *

Over the course of the next few weeks, Fred had finally built up the courage to talk to Hermione again. They began doing everything together; Fred had let her help with a few experiments for the shop, they'd fished, shopped, read. . .you name it. They quickly became the other's best friend and confidant as George was busy with his own relationship and Harry and Ron hadn't payed Hermione much attention lately.

One night in the beginning of July, the duo spread themselves upon the grass under their favorite eucalyptus tree beneath a starry sky. Fred looked over at the girl he could only dream of claiming as his own with a sigh. Suddenly, a thought popped into his head.

"Hey, 'Mione, what's your favorite color?"

"What?" The witch looked over with an amused yet slightly confused expression.

"Well," he began. "We're friends but I don't even know your favorite color!" He was trying to keep a serious face, but failed miserably at the sound of Hermione's laughter. Soon enough, he was howling at his own childishness.

When they finished, Hermione looked over at the boy she was slowly falling for, who was currently grinning like an idiot and trying to climb the tree. _Will he ever know?_ she silently asked the wind. _He could never notice a girl as plain as I am. . . _She recounted all the girls she had ever seen or heard him to be with. They were all so fun and beautiful and lively, but Fred had grown bored and soon moved on to the next girl. How could he ever fall for a girl so plain in every way as Hermione? She'd never have a chance. Right?

At loud thump woke her from her reverie. Her moronic boyfriend- _ahem -_ friend had fallen ten feet off a tree branch.

"Bloody Hell!"

"Fred!" Hermione cried, kneeling next to him.

"You never answered my question," Fred said, wincing from his fall.

"What are you going on about?" the witch responded, brow furrowed in puzzlement.

"You never told me your favorite color."

Oh. That. She tried to think of one, but in all honesty, she really had no singular favorite color. Just as she was about to give her concluded answer, she glanced into his huge, beautiful blue eyes the color of ice, only twinkling with light and mischief.

"Icy blue," she replied, sounding out each syllable. Noticing a small scrape on his cheekbone, she bent down to kiss it before she could stop herself. Fred gasped in surprise as the touch of her lips sent the tightening in his stomach several inches lower.

Grabbing his wand and Hermione's arm, Fred apparated themselves to the top branch of the eucalyptus tree. Hermione's eyes widened in surprise at first, but soon grew accustomed to the height. With the man she was most comfortable with, she felt right at home sitting thirty feet up in a tree. After all, the view was the most beautiful she had ever seen with the full moon so close she could almost touch it and million of stars lighting the sky.

"One more question," Fred began, looking at Hermione sheepishly. "If there was one place you could go, where would it be and during what time-period?"

"Easy," Hermione responded. "I've recently watched this muggle film called _The Patriot._ It's about America during the American Revolution. I'm now hooked on any book about that war. I love the clothes and the music, and everything seems so romantic! It's almost like you could run away with a secret lover and never be found. It's enchanting."

"What do you say, love?" Fred hid his seriousness with a grin, not noticing Hermione swoon when he called her "love." "Why don't we just run away to back then? We'll have to be patriots though; I don't want to put up with snarky, unrealistic Brits," he said, making a face. The American Revolution was just as well known in the wizarding world as it was the muggle. The war was actually a dispute over whether the British Ministry of Magic would control America. The muggles believed that the war was a matter of taxes and freedom, which was essentially right, but not the entire truth.

"Oh, I wish we could," Hermione sighed.

Unbeknownst to them both, a shooting star passed above the couple as they felt a strange pull from inside them.

* * *

"Hermione?" Fred asked, confused when he surveyed his surroundings. He was in a large, grassy field looking out toward several Victorian houses. There was a dirt road with wheel ruts separating the field and homes, along which a horse-drawn carriage was riding. The air was humid and warm, nothing like the weather in England. He looked beside him and saw an unconscious Hermione, clad in a long, pale blue dress with flowing skirts and a tight bodice, obviously worn with a corset. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, but was tied in a half-up half-down style with a matching blue ribbon. After noticing her bare feet, he looked down at his own garb and gasped in horror. His feet, too, were bare, but what bothered him were the tight trousers clinging to his legs. Covering his upper half was loose white blouse that had been neglected to be tied up. Feeling for his hair, his hands landed on a black tri-cornered hat instead. Letting his hands travel further down, he discovered that his red locks had grown several inches and tied messily back with a ribbon.

_Shit, _he thought. _This can't be happening. Shit, shit, shit!_

Without intentionally doing so, he and Hermione had been shipped back to the American Revolutionary War.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Hey guys! Sorry it's been a teensy bit longer than I promised. I'm still super excited to write this, but I always hate building up so you can get to the actual story. This chapter turned out a little shorter than planned, but after all it is only build-up. Anywho, back to the gorgeous Fred Weasley and Hermione Granger!**

**XOXOXO Sara**

"Hermione!" called Fred. "Get your arse up!" He was panicking, and that was one thing Fred Weasley did not do, which scared him.

"Hmm? What's wrong?" asked the witch sleepily, stretching her stiff body. She didn't wait for an answer, as she had felt the stiff material of the dress and had already begun to draw conclusions. Swiftly but not too gracefully, she sat bolt upright, eyes widening as realization dawned on her.

"Fred, we have to go. Now," the bushy haired witch managed to let out.

Obligingly, the redhead offered his arm to Hermione. As they walked across the field, the couple dully noted how beautiful the place was. Lush green grass covered a good two acres with wildflowers and sycamore trees dotting the area. It was nearing sunset, so the sky had a pink tint that reflected off the clouds. It smelled of freshly manicured grass and berry pie, which must have been baking in one of the houses nearby. As the two reached the road, an excitement-crazed middle-aged horseman raced into the Victorian across from them. As he rode toward the stables, elated shrieks of "It's been signed! It's finally been signed!" could be heard.

Fred looked over at Hermione to see if she had an inkling of an idea of what this meant, but she seemed just as dumbstruck as he was. Getting over his surprise, he dragged Hermione to where the man was dismounting his horse.

"Sir?" asked Fred quietly, not wanting to startle him. Unfortunately, Fred had to resolve to doing just that, as the man didn't notice the two people standing directly across from him as he went along humming a jolly tune.

"Sir!" he yelled, snapping the ecstatic person out of his reverie.

"Oh, hello! A very merry evening, don't you agree? Very merry indeed."

"Yes, sir," replied Fred, Hermione still trying to process the fact that they had been transported across an ocean, two-hundred years before she was born.

"How may I help you, boy?" asked the man, looking almost as if he was going to break into a jig.

"I'd like to know the date, sir. You see, my friend here and I have been traveling for some time and have lost track of the days."

"Why, it's the fifth of July! You ought to remember the date, as yesterday marked the day we became a nation! Think of it; we'll be free at last! It's a shame I only heard about the signing today, but news travels slowly, you see," replied the man with a dumb smile plastered on his face.

"I'm sorry, sir. The signing of what?" asked Fred, looking more confused than humanly possible.

"The Declaration of Independence, you git," hissed Hermione as she swatted his chest, having finally understood the situation and decided to blame every aspect on her ginger counterpart.

Looking back to the man, who had begun brushing his horse while resuming his tune, Hermione asked him where the nearest place to lodge was located.

He thought for a while before a broad smile widened on his face.

"Well," he began. "Town is at least an hour's ride away, and you best not leave now, as it'll be dark long before you reach the outskirts. 'Sides, I reckon you'll want to stay in the area at least a few weeks to recuperate from your travels from God knows where, and the inn will cost anyone an arm and a leg for staying that long. Aside from that, you won't want to travel anywhere soon enough with the redcoats soon to start swarming the colonies."

"So what is it you recommend?" asked Fred, who was finally done pouting and rubbing the spot Hermione had hit.

"You can stay here with me, of course!" the man exclaimed, almost as if it was unthinkable for the two young people to do otherwise.

Hermione and Fred glanced at each other, and before either one could object, the man practically shrieked, "Great! I haven't had guests since my wife died. My servants and I will take wonderful care of you and your wife, boy. No need to fret!"

Then he turned back to the overwhelmed-looking duo with a slight blush.

"You must forgive my manners," he began. "How can I be your host without a proper introduction? I'm James Miller-" he stuck out his hand, "-and you are?"

Being the quickest of wits of the two, Hermione replied first.

"This is Thomas Threadbare and I am Sarah Crofting."

"Lovely, lovely," replied James in a dreamy tone. "Let's get your rooms set up, shall we?"

With that, James trotted along the brick path to the front door of the Victorian. It really was a beautiful house; all three stories were painted white and overlooked spacious fields on two sides and neighboring Victorians on the other two. Columns covered with grape vines followed the stretch of the wrap-around porch, connecting the white wooden plank floor to the awning. On the second story of side of the house facing the stables was a beautiful balcony with thick grape vines running up to meet to wood and weave into the prongs. Although they wouldn't admit it to each other, both Fred and Hermione couldn't help but think Juliet would emerge from the room and stand on the balcony, waiting for her Romeo to appear from the surrounding field.

Shaking that thought from his head, Fred decided to ask Hermione about the name change.

"Why couldn't we just stay Fred Weasley and Hermione Granger?" he asked.

"Honestly, I thought you would know," came the reply. Obviously, she was still peeved as she refused to answer his question.

"Well, I wouldn't be asking you if I did."

"Think about it, _Thomas._ If something happened and we ended up changing history, we wouldn't want our names in the history books, as that would be exceedingly suspicious for people in our time, especially with our celerity status after the war."

"Oh, right. Sorry, Granger," Fred responded, feeling quite stupid after all. Why didn't he think of that?

"It's Sarah, asshole," hissed the witch, storming to the entrance of the house.

"Why 'asshole?'" shouted the now very irritated wizard, attempting to keep calm.

"You got us into this mess by asking me where I wanted to go! So _you're_ taking the blame!" she screamed back as she darted through the front door.

_Brilliant, _thought Fred. _Not only am I stuck in the beginning of a bloody war two-hundred years ago, living with a stranger, but I've got an irrational, grudge-holding PMS monster. . . I wish I had listened to Charlie when he told me not to trust anything that bleeds for seven days and doesn't die. _

With that, a now thoroughly agitated Fred pushed open the door of his new home.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Phew! Got another chapter! Just a head's up, I'm just a tad obsessed with ****_Pocahontas _****so I may have added a bit:). Enjoy!**

**XOXOXO Sara**

**Recap: ****_Brilliant, _****thought Fred. ****_Not only am I stuck in the beginning of a bloody war two-hundred years ago, living with a stranger, but I've got an irrational, grudge-holding PMS monster. . . I wish I had listened to Charlie when he told me not to trust anything that bleeds for seven days and doesn't die. _**

**With that, a now thoroughly agitated Fred pushed open the door of his new home.**

As Fred walked through the front door of the Victorian, his mouth dropped open more than humanly possible. With wide eyes, he took in the lavish yet warm decor. Directly across from the doorway was an elegant chestnut staircase with white ribbon looping around the banister leading up to the second floor. On either side of the front door were period chairs with creamy upholstery facing two very large windows overlooking the field. Before he could examine the room further, a servant swiftly whisked him away to show him to his room. They walked up the stairs to the second floor and down a short hallway, stopping at wooden door across from another. Fred opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off when the servant told him that room would be his "wife's" room.

"Oh!" cried Fred, cheeks beginning to flush. "Sarah's not my wife. She's a friend of my brother's."

A bewildered look came across the servant's face. "Unmarried and traveling for so long alone? That's a sin, Mr. Threadbare!" she whispered harshly. "That poor child came running in here, angry to the point of tears! Lizzy's taking care of the girl in the kitchen as we speak."

The servant lost her polite manner as she took a few steps closer and pressed a pudgy finger into his chest. Only then did he realize how small he seemed in comparison to the large African woman, physically and mentally. "You leave her alone, you hear? I don't know what you did to upset the poor girl, but she's bawling like a babe. I've known her all of five minutes and I already feel like I've known creature since her childhood. If she comes crying to me one more time, pretty boy, I won't hesitate to castrate you myself."

With one last glare, she shoved a shocked Fred into the room, along with the few leftover clothing articles for him that she had not yet stocked the room with, and slammed the door shut.

"What the bloody hell is with these women!?" he groaned as he flopped himself on the bed.

* * *

"Mary!" Hermione cried as she saw the servant that had assaulted Fred reenter the kitchen. She'd only known her for a few minutes, but the dark woman already felt like her best friend.

"I showed your man his room, Miss," Mary replied. "I taught him a lesson, too."

"Please, call me Sarah."

"Sarah, then," said Mary with a warm smile. "What did that boy do to you to make you so angry?"

Hermione frowned.

"I don't think it was him that caused it," she replied. "I've just been a little perturbed today. Probably just PMS."

At this, both Mary and the other servant in the room, Lizzy, exchanged knowing glances.

"Miss Sarah," began Lizzy. "Mary and I were brought to America at a very young age. We were best friends in our village. We did everything together, including an apprenticeship with our tribe's spirit woman around the age of ten. She taught us everything we know about the spirit world. Everything in our spirit culture is the same as your Indians here in America, but as you will soon see, things here are done their way."

Walking over to Hermione, Lizzy pulled her to her feet.

"Come child, we must show you something."

The three women walked toward the very middle the field in silence. As Hermione absorbed the beauty of the tall grass in the sunset, the two African women took hold of her hands.

"Now child, close your eyes and listen to the wind."

Hermione obeyed, relying on only the song of the wind and the caress of the grass on her legs beneath her skirt. Her mind began to spin, but she was determined to keep her eyes shut. For a reason unknown to her, she fully trusted these women already.

The wind steadily became louder and there was notable change in the sound. By the strange new melody carried by Indian flutes, Hermione realized that only she could hear it. A haunting inhuman voice that could only be described as the voice of the wind began to sing words in Cherokee, yet she could understand their meaning perfectly.

_"Listen with your heart,_

_you will understand. _

_Let it break upon you_

_like a wave upon the sand._

_Listen with your heart,_

_you will understand."_

Hermione did as the wind told her and listened with every part of her body. She felt the spirits of the earth and sky envelop her as she began to understand what the servants wanted her to know. The wind told her of a great journey of love and adventure before her, but with a tone that cut like a knife. From the little she had taken from the spirit world, she knew better than anything else that had been foretold that danger was unavoidable.

* * *

"Mr. Threadbare?"

Fred resisted the urge to groan as he answered the knock at his door.

"Hello, Mr. Threadbare," said a very exuberant Mr. Miller.

"Please, it's Thomas," replied Fred.

"Right, then. Sorry to wake you from your nap, Thomas. I was just much too excited to keep it to myself."

"What are you saying, sir?"

With a Cheshire grin, Miller replied, "I'm throwing a ball in two weeks in honor of the signing Declaration!"

Waiting for a response, Miller was disappointed by a stone-shocked Fred.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Threadbare?"

"I-I can't dance," the redhead answered. He realized he sounded ridiculous, but he had reason to be worried. In his first year at Hogwarts, a seventh year had hexed him to dance without break for six hours after he had charmed her goblet to run away from her when she tried to grab it. The only reason Fred even danced at the Yule Ball was the fact that McGonagall had threatened him with a month's detention if he wasn't in her sight.

"Oh my! That's nothing to be ashamed of boy! You can have dance lessons with my dear servant, Mary! She's lovely, she's the largish woman who brought you to your room."

"How splendid!" Fred replied. Thankfully, Miller didn't catch the blatant sarcasm.

Mr. Miller then invited him to dinner, which Fred graciously accepted, feeling starved. That Weasley appetite Hermione always complained about to Ron really was horrendous. No wonder he hadn't been himself all day, what with being half-starved and the target of angry women.

When he made it down to the dining room, Hermione was already seated, looking comatose. Fred tried to catch her eye, but it was as if she wasn't there. Mary patted her on the shoulder which seemed to wake her up, but she still wouldn't make eye-contact with her counterpart.

Although worried, Fred still ate as if he were in his own home. Everything on the table after he had finished looked as if it was under a vanishing spell, which left the servants very pleased. When supper had ended, the former Weasley pulled Hermione aside. Reluctantly, she told him everything about that evening, having forgotten about her frustration with said Weasley.

Still trying to process the information that Hermione had given him, Fred collapsed on his bed. It was impossible for him to fall asleep as his mind was hurtling hundreds of miles an hour just thinking of danger's sly tactics. Call him paranoid, but he wasn't going to let anything happen to the girl who had grown to become his best friend. When he finally fell asleep, dreams of a certain pretty brunette molding her lips to his occupied his mind. Although he knew he wouldn't remember them in the morning, it didn't mean he still couldn't enjoy them.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Whoop! Finally got another chapter! Sorry for the wait guys. I've been super busy these past few weeks. **

**IMPORTANT: I wasn't a big fan of the death prediction for Hermione in the last chapter so I went back and changed it to danger prediction. The death prediction conflicted with my ideas for this story and it was bugging me, so I changed it. I also changed what I said when Fred admitted to himself that he loved Hermione. I took that bit out because it was a bit quick and a little too early in the story.**

**So keep that in mind and enjoy!**

**XOXO Sara**

Fred Weasley woke up as his bed curtains were pulled back and pure sunlight scorched his eyelids.

"Up you go, Mr. Threadbare," came the voice of Mary, the large slave woman who Hermione had seemed to take a liking to.

Instead of obliging, Fred let out a groan and grumbled about impatient women, flipping his large frame onto his front. This action left Mary with a scowl on her face and her hands on her hips.

"Now, Mr. Threadbare, if you don't get up and ready in the next ten seconds, I'll be more than happy to help you."

The tone in her voice left Fred doubting that she would be "happy," but in all honesty his fear of the large woman by no means overrode his longing for another few hours of sleep.

"It's Fred, not Threadbare," he grumbled into his pillow, feeling even more perturbed.

"Fred? Didn't Miss Sarah say your first name was Thomas?" Mary asked, confusion replacing her look of disapproval.

_Shit. _"Thomas it is, then," he replied, carefully brushing off his slip-up. _Damn Granger and her name changes, _he thought.

Mary only shook her head, choosing to keep her thoughts to herself.

"Well whoever you are, pretty boy, get your sorry ass out of bed before I decide to help you."

Fred, never having been the wisest of the Weasleys, grunted and shoved his face further into the pillow.

"Alright, gingie, you had your chance."

Suddenly, he felt strong hands wrap around his ankles and yank him to the floor. He didn't have time to process the fact that he was stark naked before Mary violently twisted his ear, forcing him to walk with her to the dresser. She let go only to search for clothes, shoving them at an uncomfortable Fred who was trying to decide whether to cover himself or rub his sore ear. Thankfully, he had already done up his trousers when the temperamental woman unleashed her fury upon him once more. As she ruthlessly yanked clothes onto his body, it was impossible not to let an "Oi!" or two escape. He was beginning to feel very violated when she finished dressing him and began attacking the nest of red he called his hair. After all the knots had been taken care of, Mary continued brushing his locks in a slow rhythm. She knew that nothing was more soothing that having one's hair brushed by another, so she decided finally go easy on the poor boy for a while. God knew that he needed to be soothed if he had any idea of what the future held for him.

When she was sure that Fred had recovered, she decided to tell him the reason for the early wake-up.

"Mr. Miller demanded that you and Miss Sarah be awake at the crack of dawn. I know it's a tad inconvenient, but he's gone off the deep end since his wife died a few years ago, bless her soul. He's just trying to be a good host, that's all. His wife was always the one who was good with this area of work."

"Brilliant," replied Fred, rolling his eyes. "I'm not just living with one psychopath but three."

"Three?" asked Mary, raising her eyebrows and donning a sarcastic look.

Seeing his chance, the infamous sassy prankster grinned and replied, "Oh yes. Three. Although, I do believe this morning's stunt placed you at the top of that list."

Needless to say, the Weasley twin left the room with a dark hairbrush-shaped bruise on the back of his head.

* * *

After a hearty breakfast in which the Weasley appetite made itself very apparent, Fred decided to take a stroll about the fields, tossing an apple in his hand while whistling muggle tunes. There had been one song lately that had struck his fancy, although he would never admit it to anyone. Thinking that no one was around to hear him, he decided to sing, seeing as he needed a little something to pick up his mood.

_"We were both young when I first saw you,_

_I close my eyes and the flashback starts. _

You're_ standing there,_

_on a balcony in summer air. . ."_

Unknowingly, he had changed the line that says "I'm standing there" to "you're standing there" the moment he realized that Juliet- ahem- Hermione was watching him from her balcony. He'd never really realized how beautiful she was before, but something clicked in his head as he took in the way that the morning sun reflected off her pale skin and how attractive her hair look tied back in a braid. He was silently muttering profanities at his moment of weakness while simultaneously wondering in jealousy how she got the balcony room.

"Enjoying yourself there, eh Fred?" she asked, grinning sarcastically. He seemed to grow more magnificent every time she saw him. He looked gorgeous, standing there with his newly long ginger hair tied back with a ribbon, that famous Weasley blush dominating his face, and one hand bashfully shoved in his pocket while the other tossed an apple. Now that she was thinking, wasn't he just singing "Love Story?" She couldn't help but swoon.

"I was," he replied with a Cheshire grin, "until you so rudely interrupted me. I was just getting to the good part."

Hermione laughed, and Fred couldn't help but think it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. He'd never paid close attention to it before, but he was sure that if he knew that was how it sounded, he would have tried much more often to hear her laugh.

"Wait for me, I'll walk with you," Hermione told him.

As she ran through the door of the Victorian to catch up with him, he couldn't help but feel a slight pounding in his chest. What was the matter with him? He couldn't be falling for his little brother's love, could he?


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Sorry if this one is a bit short. I wanted to make the next part an entire chapter on its own. By the way, I would love some feedback and ideas, so don't be afraid to comment! **

**XOXO Sara**

Fred watched as Hermione sprinted to where he was standing in the field. He was chuckling at her childishness, but those chuckles soon turned to guffaws as her uncomfortable period shoes caught in a rabbit hole and sent her flying. Hermione had never been incredibly graceful, but this took the cake.

"Have a nice trip?" Fred asked between snorts, helping the mud-smeared witch up. Hermione sniffed and began walking, her nose high in the air. When Fred caught up to her, she replied.

"Lovely. And yours?"

"But I didn't fall. . . you. ." he muttered, looking extremely confused and put off by Hermione's newly adopted smirk.

"Oh, but you did," she coyly answered, watching Fred's eyebrows rise as he caught on. He began to run, but his face connected with the ground as Hermione grabbed his ankle and yanked back. He looked up to catch a glimpse of the bushy-haired witch sprinting toward the trees in the distance. Quickly pushing himself up, he took off in her direction with a face-splitting grin. Within seconds, the ginger caught up to Hermione and tackled her, causing her to squeal as their bodies made contact with the grass once again.

When they finally finished laughing, Fred decided it was the perfect time to inform Hermione about the ball.

"What? No, no, if there is going to be a ball, I'm not going," she stubbornly replied.

"Why aren't you excited? You looked amazing at the Yule Ball, so I thought this would be fun for Your Highness, Mrs. Krum."

"No, Fred, I'm going to look like a bloody idiot!" she cried, clearly frustrated.

"But the Yule Ball. . ."

"At the Yule Ball, Fred Weasley," Hermione hissed through clenched teeth, "I had magic, and with magic comes charms. There are many charms, Mr. Weasley, including charms that aid dancing. Now without that charm, Frederick, I will look like a bloody spider on roller skates!"

_Bloody hell, _thought Fred, raising his arms in an almost defensive motion against the angry female. _Are all women as bipolar as this?_ _I might as well be stuck in an alternate universe with my mother!_

* * *

When the two returned to the Victorian shortly after Hermione's outburst, Miller was excitedly waiting to receive them.

"The two of you better get washed up and changed, the carriage leaves at seven-thirty for town," he told them, grinning. Both wizards inwardly rolled their eyes at how hard he was trying to be a gracious host. Hermione gave a sweet smile and hurriedly ran up the stairs to her room, but the most Fred could manage was a pained nod of the head before doing the same.

When he reached his bedroom, Fred was very pleased to see that Mary wasn't there. He headed over to his wardrobe, using his better judgment in choosing brown trousers, a white long-sleeve shirt, a brown vest that was much too tight for his liking, and a green over-coat. Slipping on his period-style shoes, he exited his room holding his tri-cornered hat. As he shut the door, he heard Hermione squeaking while Mary impatiently instructed her to suck in otherwise she would not fit into the corset. He couldn't help but think he was grateful that he had been born a male.

While waiting for Hermione to finish dressing, Fred pushed himself to be polite and converse with Miller, who was waiting in the library. The majority of the conversation was mindless small talk until Miller grew serious and caught Fred's eye with a weary gaze.

"Forgive me for my asking, but you and Sarah are for the Revolution, correct? If it has slipped your notice, I am an avid Patriot and it would not do to host Tories in my home."

"Y-yes, sir, of course," Fred stuttered.

"Good, good," Miller replied, keeping Fred hostage under his stare. "Tell me son, how do you feel about the Tea Party?"

"W-well, it's wrong to impose such heavy taxes on a colony not represented in Parliament, especially when it is hurting the American economy, so it makes sense to retaliate after far too many attempted negotiations. I find myself wishing I could have been one of those men," Fred answered, glad to see that Miller was satisfied with his response. _Thank you Professor Binns and your long, unrelated rants._

"You are a strong, fit young Patriot, why aren't you rushing to sign up for the army? They need anyone they can get. I myself am applying today in town."

"Sarah wants me to stay with her. I would feel horrid leaving her like this," replied Fred, now sweating from the interrogation.

"She's situated here," Miller shot back. "She has Mary to keep her company and there are many other women whose men have left them for the war."

To Fred's relief, Hermione came begrudgingly into the library wearing a snug pink day gown, her hair down with the front locks fastened at the back with a ribbon, with Mary prodding her from behind.

"All ready to go?" asked Miller, now joyous after abandoning the previous subject. _That man needs some of that muggle Prozac, _thought the Weasley with a frown, pushing himself up from his seat.

"Something wrong?" Hermione whispered to him, taking the arm offered to her.

"That man's gone mental. He's turned into the Spanish Inquisition, trying to pin me for a loyalist."

"Just don't say anything too incredibly idiotic," Hermione replied with a smirk.

"Yeah, no kidding." Fred knew this was no laughing matter, even if Hermione thought it was a moot point. That man gave him a horrible feeling. The day ahead gave him a feeling of dread, but he easily brushed it off. What was the worst that could happen?


End file.
